


breathe deep in wintergreen

by twopinchesofcinnamon



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi can essentially taste sounds, Akaashi is ticklish and he’ll destroy anyone who shares that, Alternate Universe - Mundane Superpowers, Established Relationship, M/M, akaashi is smitten, early morning vibes, gratuitous food themed metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:02:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23835835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twopinchesofcinnamon/pseuds/twopinchesofcinnamon
Summary: Bokuto’s giggle is like maple syrup, and Akaashi  would give the world to taste it over and over again.(Or: Akaashi can taste sounds; Bokuto’s are the sweetest).
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 1
Kudos: 93





	breathe deep in wintergreen

Bokuto's giggle tastes like maple syrup. 

It's sunny, dotted over fluffy pancakes—the kind for lazy mornings just as the sun peers inside their bedroom window. The sound washes over Akaashi's taste buds sporadically while the two dabble in their respective hobbies (Akaashi's being swiping through pound cake recipes on Pinterest, and Bokuto's being aggressively editing a photo on an app that likely cost one of their collective paychecks).

Every once and a while, Bokuto's tongue peeps out of his mouth, and Akaashi can't help but pause to simply stare. His boyfriend breathes loudly, which, in some alternate universe could be perceived as annoying, but the deep sighs seep into Akaashi's tongue and leave wintergreen imprints in their wake.

"You okay, 'Kaashi?"

Akaashi smiles softly at the sudden taste of grilled cheese that accompanies Bokuto's sleepy tenor, humming, "Yes, Koutarou. Just listening to you work."

"Ooh!" Bokuto's eyes brighten like honey, "What does it taste like? Wait—don't answer that! Let me think," he places his hands over his chin, his entire body conveying the stages of his thought process. Akaashi can see the moment he remembers, "Spicy! No, wait. Er—mint? And hot cocoa for when I mumble!"

Bubbling affection rumbles in Akaashi's chest (back when they'd first met, long before the budding of their romantic relationship, Akaashi assumed Bokuto would get tired of his little talent for tasting sounds. But, if anything, Akaashi thinks he's gotten further fascinated over the years, as he constantly queries about the flavor of chirping birds and rackety trains on their walks. And, he always tries to remember Akaashi's answers despite his notoriously awful memory).

"Correct. Wintergreen and hot chocolate, plus stale saltines when you click the keyboard."

"Yes!" Bokuto pumps his fist in triumph, performing his little victory dance (note that 'little' probably isn't the right word; he barely avoids knocking over the horrid magenta vase that Kuroo bought as a gag gift for them last christmas—the one that Akaashi keeps his hydrangeas in). "I remembered, Akaashi!"

"That you did, Koutarou."

Bokuto then seems to realize something, and his lips turn up eagerly, prompting his impossibly deep dimples to gladly show their faces.

"Speaking of remembering," he starts with a histrionic lean, and Akaashi is rolling his eyes fondly across the table, "Isn't there something coming up soon that you're forgetting?"

Akaashi makes a show of checking over his fingernails and runs his teeth over the sour tang of his boyfriend's teasing tone, "Hm? Is there a new movie coming out soon?"

Bokuto pouts, "Akaashi."

"Or—is Kenma releasing a new game? The one with the villain based off Oikawa?"

"Akaashi."

"Sawamura is finally confessing his painful and obviously undying love for Suga?"

Bokuto releases a distinctly cinnamon snort and lightly punches his side. That playful twinkle flashes in the yellow of his eyes.

(This particular look seems somewhat innocent on the surface, but Akaashi has been subject to what follows ever since Bokuto accidentally brushed his side in their high school locker room, forcing a mangled laugh of of his throat. Akaashi practically held him down by the neck for his sworn silence, because imagine the hell Kuroo would wreak if he found out that cool, calm, collected Keji is ticklish).

Seeing that telltale glimmer of mischief, Akaashi's brows distort in reflexive panic, "Wait. Koutarou, don—!"

Suddenly, that sweet maple syrup explodes inside his mouth like a sugary firework, accompanied by the laffy-taffy taste of hysterical wheezes ringing in his own ears.

"Kou—Kou, please," Akaashi pleads through his laughter.

Bokuto continues relentlessly wiggling his fingers. He dons a smirk all-too reminiscent of the ones that Kuroo and Kenma perpetually sport, "Please, what, 'Kaashi?"

"Please—ah, s-stop tickling me!"

"I think you might be forgetting something," Bokuto deadpans, and Akaashi has failed to remember how cruel he can be sometimes (the prolonged exposure to sadists like Oikawa are likely the true cause. He really needs to limit the amount of time that they're allowed to speak alone, because God forbid Bokuto start calling him "Kei-channn!" too).

"Yes, yes, I swear—"

An evil, evil smile, "Say it."

"If you would let me breathe—"

"Say it."

"—birthday! Okay, it's y–your birthday this weekend!"

Akaashi's flavorful cackles halt and make way for bubblegum puffs of air.

"Thanks," Bokuto grins one-thousand watts as if he hasn't just tortured Akaashi for an extended period of time.

"You...you're awful."

"I'm the sweetest person you know."

It's true, Akaashi thinks. No one has ever really matched up to Koutarou's bizarre ability produce any flavor with his ever-emotive words. Each dip in tone or volume changes the taste altogether, and there's not a single one that Akaashi doesn't adore.

"I suppose."

A few silent moments trickle by, the rare kind where the air conditioner washes down Akaashi's throat in a gentle stream of cherry-tinted water.

"Hey, 'Kaashi?"

"Yes?"

"What are you getting me? For my birthday."

Akaashi momentarily reminisces about the presents from birthdays past (the white-and-gold watch Bokuto wears even in the shower, that giant framed picture of the team above their bed, the fish tank housing a number of guppies that only Bokuto knows all the names of—the list it goes on).

"...A self-help book."

Bokuto pouts.

"'Kaashi, you can't give me the same thing Tooru did last year. Plus, I know you hate that thing. Every time I quote it you tell me my voice tastes like artificial cheese and make me leave the room."

Akaashi's nose twitches distastefully, "It does. You have an abysmal narrator impression, and I'm no fan of cheap dairy products. As for your gift, I guess you'll just have to wait like everyone else."

"But—"

"No buts—and if you tickle me right now you can forget about having a birthday at all. And I'll do what Kenma did to Kuroo that one time and send Lev in place of me on one of our dates."

(The memory of Kenma's phone brimming with all-caps, tragically frantic texts from a distressed Kuroo is a fond one in Akaashi's mind. The mere proposed image of Kuroo and Lev of all people sitting at that uber-fancy restaurant is enough to send him into a fit of sour cream giggles).

"...I can wait," Bokuto shivers.

"That's what I thought."

And so, the fear of an enthusiastic Russian marks the end of that discussion, as well as the start of a comfortably sugary lapse of silence, and little pieces of saltines.

**Author's Note:**

> the vibe for this fic is inspired by “brown-eyed girl” and the premise is just one that’s been floating in my head for a while


End file.
